Mitzeee's Birthday
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Brendan and Ste travel to America to visit Mitzeee for her birthday. Set four years in future, Mitzeee lives in an apartment overlooking the ocean in LA. Ste and Brendan live in married bliss in Dublin, but with their usual up and downs. Will have around three chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Not sure how many parts there will be yet, perhaps three. This is set four years from now and will go some way in explaining what's happened between now and then. Ties in a little with my Double Date fic but you don't need to have read that to read this. Hope you enjoy! **

**Mitzeee's Birthday**

Part One

"Look! It weren't that long ago you were saying –" Ste cleared his throat, adopted his trademark (and appalling) Irish accent – "_Steven we should get away for a bit, spoil ourselves._" He growled. Brendan hadn't growled in the conversation Ste re-enacted, but his pressing Ste up against the door frame with a hard on, had said as much.

Brendan, up to his elbows in soap suds, played the martyr after a row that morning. Ste had yapped on like a harpy claiming he wasn't Brendan's little wifey there to cook, clean and shag; they were meant to be equals. Brendan had been working longer hours getting the new club up and running and claimed he didn't feel like coming home and cleaning up. Ste shouted back that maybe he didn't feel like cleaning up either. Brendan dipped into his wallet and told him to hire someone. The arms were folded as he said, "That's not how life works, Brendan. You can't just chuck money at something to fix it." Brendan had perked up at this, brazenly tucking a wad of Euros into the waistband of Ste's trousers. The inevitable anger that erupted and Brendan settled for fish finger sandwiches, less appetising than what he was expecting for tea, and Ste ignoring him for most of the night. It was made better with his warm hand span across Ste's belly and a sorry in his ear. He was pressed nose to nape as he made excuses for his selfishness, ones that Ste conceded, and told him how much he loved and appreciated Steven, more than he could any 'wifey'.

He flicked a soap bubble. "I meant the two of us, I didn't mean Anne tagging along,"

Ste tutted, resting his back against the sink next to Brendan. "She's meant'abe your best mate." He looked over at Brendan's perfectionist circling of the sponge. "You could have bunged them in the dishwasher, you know."

"I don't have 'mates', Steven," Brendan said, sliding plates into the rack. "I have people who work for me and family,"

"And enemies," Ste said, a dorky grin. His humour in that was found in Brendan's enemies now being tight suppliers and the woman at the pharmacy who raised her eyebrows at the amount of lube he bought, rather than the drug dealers and murderers of the past. The odd punter had his arm contorted in such a way that left him yelping, but nothing as bad as that would warrant police involvement anymore.

"Okay, so Mitzeee's the closest thing you've got to a mate," Ste said, he was clutching the email from her. He still printed off emails, finding them easier to read that way. It was addressed to him, Mitzeee knowing all too well that Brendan didn't really do modern technology. "And California, Brendan. Hollywood and everything." Ste's whole face lit up with excitement. "We could go n'mingle with the celebrities,"

Brendan glanced at him, enamoured by his boyish enthusiasm and wonder for things most people would find childish or insignificant. Ste gave him a new appreciation for the world.

"Fine. Fine. We'll go and give Anne the _Birthday of her dreams_!" he said, dramatizing his words in the style of the email.

X

Ste was like a child on a flight. He coped fine on the short leg between Dublin and England, something they did all too frequently to see the little ones in Manchester, but give him a longer flight and he behaved like the kid you don't want to sit behind on a journey. He'd emptied the contents of a carrier bag, which had been stuffed into his eyesore of a sport's holdall, onto the little pull down table. He'd bought a variety of confectionary, chocolate, sweets and – strangely – popcorn (_"For the movies," _he'd explained) and then a magazine selection that made it look as if Brendan was sitting beside someone with multiple personalities. _Good Food, PlayStation, attitude_. Brendan gawped at the latter.

"You can't be serious," he said, not even attempted to hide his contempt.

"What?"

"This." He pointed. "Is pornography."

Ste eyed the cover – some swimmer he'd never heard of – not exactly bad looking, but nothing worth getting excited about. He wasn't even really sure why he'd bought it, he didn't really _do _reading, but the magazines at the airport somehow made him feel like he was supposed to buy them. And the speed he read at could take him through a couple of hours of the flight.

"I only bought it for the articles, didn't I? Could learn how t'get a gym body." Ste stroked down his chest.

"_Going_ to the gym would be a start," Brendan said, unfolding his newspaper.

"I thought you liked my body?!" Ste's voice changed pitch when he got riled over something. The magazine fell off the table and into Brendan's lap.

Brendan lifted the magazine like it was infected, smiled at Ste. "More than _like_, Steven." His eyes fell to the page that the magazine had parted on. A commercial on one page advertised chatlines with leather clad men and an article divulged all the details on how to avoid mediocre blow jobs. As Ste angled for a kiss, Brendan halted him, tore out the page, shredded it and stuffed it into the dregs of the chalky coffee he couldn't drink.

"I just paid for that," Ste said, snatching it back off him.

"It was irrelevant." He paused, flicking the page of his newspaper. "Unless you've got any complaints?"

Ste shrugged. "Don't think so." And then he beamed at Brendan, just as his eyes had reached that steely coldness, then melted.

"Good," Brendan said, rustling his way through the newspaper.

He was woken a little while later by Ste's elbow in his side – he'd been too sugared up to sleep. Ste offered him some popcorn and was grumpily batted away.

"You woke me up just for that?"

"No," Ste said, leaning over the arm of the chair that separated them and gave Brendan a brief cuddle. "I was watching this film, right. A girlie one –"

"Why?"

"Nothing else to watch and I thought if I watched sommit loud it might wake you up," Ste said, scrunching his nose when Brendan's chest hair tickled it. Brendan smiled fondly at his thoughtfulness, despite him nudging him awake not long after considering it.

"Anyway," Ste said, carrying on regardless. "There was this couple right. Man and woman. Well they had this big row n'that, but then they met on this bridge and kissed and got together again. Made me think of me and you, didn't it?"

Brendan looked down at Ste, his blue eyes shining brightly with the memories. It struck him, daily, how lucky he was to still have Ste. Through all the rough patches, the months they were separated by the agonising time in prison, the relief at making it out of their alive with charges dropped, finding each other again and making the promise – vows and all – to never let each other go. He stroked Ste's cheek with the side of his thumb. There was a woman on an adjacent aisle watching but it didn't make him want to hide away like the past, he wanted to bark back any judgements she might have had straight in her face. This was their fourth year together.

"You and me on the Ha'Penny, eh?"

"Yep," Ste said, triumph in his voice. He sat up, back in his seat. "Back to sleep old man, I gotta see whether they get a happy ending."

X

Mitzeee stood waiting at the airport, hair tousled and shades on, holding up a sign – adorned with love hearts – saying _Bradys_.

She'd made it over for their wedding of course; it wouldn't have been right without her. They'd had it in Hollyoaks, low-key and thankfully drama-free, before they packed and moved to Dublin. Moving far from home had once seemed like a torturous prospect for Ste, one full of doubt and uncertainly. Dublin felt right, obvious even.

Mitzeee almost been appalled that Ste had so easily given up his surname.

"Well he ain't gonna take mine, is he?" Ste had told her over a foamy coffee the day before the wedding. College Coffee was no longer and they'd been squeezed into a corner of Tony's new restaurant. He had his usual Tony way about him, sighing and eye-rolling at them passing up on a food order. "We're a bistro Ste, not a cafe." He said cafe without the accent – caff – in that snobbish way of his. Two years in remission and little had changed, he was still squeezing them dry with the catering bill for the wedding.

Brendan had been banished from their meet and had gone to pick up his kids instead. Leah and Lucas were arriving, Amy in tow, later in the day. The word to describe her was: thawing. She scrutinised Brendan with no room for manoeuvre. Since Ste's slump back into dealing her trust in him had also shrunk, but things had changed in the year that followed Brendan's release and Ste's – to want of a better word – rehabilitation. She could barely understand his transformation from the mess she'd seen him in to the man who'd been given a second life. "It's him, isn't it?" she'd said, like she needed to ask. It was and always would be. Brendan wrecked and rebuilt.

"Brady-hyphen-Hay," Mitzeee had said, dragging out her hands as if their names were to be lit up in neon. "It has a certain ring,"

"Bit of a mouthful," Ste'd said, dunking a shortbread into his hot chocolate.

Mitzeee waggled her perfectly pencilled eyebrows. "I bet."

Ste tutted. "Cheeky."

"We're all friends here, Ste!" She teased, clutching at his hand.

"A gentleman never tells," Ste said. He hardly needed to with Mitzeee, her imagination filled in the gaps of what she hadn't seen. And well, what she had seen was a rather graphic desk-top grunt of sweating bodies almost three years to the day she let herself (and Rae) into the club office and almost copped a round-two midlow. This time, alone, she'd stared long enough to take a picture until Brendan had screamed at her to get out. That had only been two days ago and he carried round that thunderous expression right up until his gruff "I do."

"I need the dirt for my speech," Mitzeee said, getting out her phone ready to make note of the gory details. She already had typed out two hundred words of blue prose about the encounter she'd interrupted, saving it to add a little spice (gay was the new Shades of Grey) to her next novel. That was the new ambition: novelist. She'd already penned a modestly successful one about a glamorous heroine struggling in the wake of her footballer beloved's murder. Semi-autobiographical. The footballer had been called Rory and the girl, Marniee. Two e's.

Ste shook his head fiercely with dread. "Brendan said no speeches."

"And you're telling me that gobby sister of his won't stick her oar in?!"

Ste licked the squirty cream from his top lip and pointed his finger at her. "That's my future sister in law you're talking about,"

"Yeah yeah," she said dismissively. "No Best Man? I thought you'd ask Doug." She had a glint in her eyes, on the wind up.

"Funny," Ste said. He span the cup around in its saucer. "He's not coming. Bit awkward, innit? Not just cos we were married, but we don't talk much anymore and Brendan hates his guts. _Still_ hates his guts." Doug had moved the premises of the deli out of the village and there became less opportunity for them to cross paths, much to the relief of all parties.

"Of course he does. Little American took what was 'his', didn't he?" Mitzeee said, fingers doing air quotes. "He got to marry you first." Mitzeee was right on that front, it was a constant point of tension between them and Brendan's possession of him had been unrelenting to the point of screaming rows. Although, it went both ways, Ste was the centre of his world and that seemed like something neither wanted or could change.

Ste stopped his cup spinning. "Yeah and look how that turned out! But what does it matter? Brendan's the love of me life and he was still the love of me life when I was getting married to Doug!"

Mitzeee rolled her eyes then, slipping her phone away, defeated. "You know you two are enough to make a girl queasy, don't you?"

Naturally, she hadn't been queasy on the big day, she'd been misty eyed and drunk with the kind of emotion that made her express love for them repeatedly.

She greeted them with a choking hug in the terminal, pulling Brendan back so she could look at him and press her cerise lips to his before doing the same to Ste.

"How are my two favourite boys?" she asked, voice squealing with excitement. Brendan winced already, creasing at the way she described them. He refused more than a grunt before picking up a coffee, leaving 'the ladies' as he referred to them, to catch up.

Mitzeee linked arms with Ste the way his sister did and they stood to the side of the Starbucks queue, Anne wanting to know all the details of the restaurant and adjoining bar they were hoping to open once Brendan had got the other new club settled, which had just opened in one of the backstreets of Dublin. They had attempted a modest lifestyle once Brendan had been released, but guilt meant Cheryl flooded them with money that seemed like charity and Ste's little stash of drug money stretched further than they expected. So things slipped back into the way things should have gone, Brendan was back in tailored, buttock-skimming suits and opening businesses to be emperor of, Ste kicked the dealing and got chef jobs to pass the time until they had enough cash for their own restaurant. It sounded easy laid out like that, in reality Ste found life back with Brendan tougher than he expected.

Night terrors were frequent. Not just bad dreams but full panic attacks, sweats, sleep walking and screaming. His doses of painkillers were a crutch, but even then, the idea of sleeping – and what he might experience during – terrified him. The anger, resentment and attitude, the reluctance to give up dealing hadn't been what Brendan had expected from him either. Part of him looked back on the time and was grateful, purely because it had snapped him out of the insular, twitchy state of mind that prison had inflicted. Thankfully for him prison had brought him compulsory therapy, a bane which had become a blessing and he tuned out of the prison walls, focusing his energy on Ste instead, stubborn fucker that he was. That made two of them.

When they reached Mitzeee's car, a jeep with tinted windows and with her driving, an embarrassing turning circle, Anne ignored Brendan's jibes about women drivers and asked about married life.

"It's no different," Ste said. He was sat in the front next to Mitzeee, his eyes widening at every brand new expanse of America on the horizon. Brendan had offered it up to him, partly for selfish reasons because he wanted the expanse of cool backseats to doze on, but more because little pleased him more than Ste experiencing the world. Brendan kept his eyes clamped shut in the back, claiming to be dozing but listening to every word. "He prefers it because less guys crack onto me." Ste flashed his wedding band at her like it had some sort of laser "Back the fuck off" signal.

"I see. Not giving out so many knuckle sandwiches to the love rivals now, Bren?" Mitzeee said directing her gaze to the mirror. Brendan twitched and grunted a response.

Ste gave her a look. "Not since he was banned from a bar for grabbing some bloke's nose."

"One time," Brendan called out from the back. "And it's not like you haven't emptied a pint over a fella, Steven."

Ste grimaced like he was remembering the exact contempt held for this guy making advances on Brendan. "Right tart he was."

Mitzeee sighed, turning off down a freeway. "When are you two ever just going to be normal?"

"We're happy the way we are, alright?" Ste said. His elbow squished against the window, having been told not to open it and let the hot air in and have her hair go all frizzy. It was air-con only. "I thought you were meant to be giving us the guided tour?"

It wasn't long before they arrived at Mitzeee's sand-coloured apartment, a building with all its glass and angular features looked like it had been designed by someone with too much time on his hands. She lived within spitting distance of the beach, a sloped road away, with a balcony to overlook it. It was an understatement to say Ste was awed with envy, he walked around the apartment dumbstruck.

"Nice," Brendan said stepping into the reception room and snapping his sunglasses away. "You've done well for yourself kid." The photos of Riley on every surface indicated the Costello cash-cow had paid for the place. "I was expecting something a little more upmarket…"

They exchanged looks before she batted him on the arm.

Truth be told, Ste was a little disappointed there was no pool. On having visited Disneyworld back in 2011 – the most bitter and depressing holiday he'd taken – he'd been under the impression all Americans had a pool in the garden. _Yard_. But with the Pacific so close, he could see why she had no need.

"Phe loves the ocean," she said and then immediately cringed, "You know, that sounded less 'Mommy' in my head." She threw her bag and keys on the sofa, prised her poor feet from her heels and slumped down. "I'm not sure we're getting into this whole L.A. thing, me and Phoenix." She wafted her hand around behind her indicating the guys could help themselves to drinks or sit down. "Well, he's fairing better than me, but then he is four."

"It's new innit, new way of living," Ste said, placing himself next to her, with a grumbled "I'll make the coffees then," in the background from Brendan. Ste assessed their surroundings. "It's gotta be better than Hollyoaks,"

"It wasn't so bad, village life." There was a pang across her face. "Out here it's a little bit lonely."

"Not bumped into any local totty then?" Ste asked.

"Oh there's plenty of that," she let out a little cackle that quickly turned shallow. "But I don't want that. The last time I did that I thought I was pregnant by a stripper." She shuddered at the memory. "We can't all be lucky enough to find our soulmate on our doorstep," she said, the word soulmate sounding as if she'd covered it in glitter. Fairystory they weren't – and if they were it was certainly a bit more Grimm than it was Disney.

Ste had wanted to quip that she'd found her soulmate in her family tree, but wasn't sure what the etiquette was on making jokes about the man who'd been murdered instead of himself.

Brendan handed her a coffee and she perked up a little, less of the Anne more of Mitzeee. "So I've gotta pick Phoenix up from pre-school, whip us up some dinner –"

Brendan eyed her warily, he'd not been near seafood since Trish's paella and he remained convinced that poor culinary skill was in her blood.

"Takeaway," she said, "Wait for the babysitter and then the night is ours!"

When Mitzeee left, dressed like a movie star, to pick up Phoenix, Ste pulled Brendan by the arm and dragged him out to sit on the balcony. He pressed himself against the side of Brendan's body as they sat side by side on the bench.

His eyes followed the dotted trail of palm trees for as far as he could see. "This proper like I imagine Heaven would be." He was off in his own boyish dreamworld again. It always surprised Brendan to see Steven like this, when he'd been through so much, he still believed in an idyllic life. And even the simplest of pleasures thrilled him. He seemed get a real kick out of Brendan (trying) to cook dinner; or remembering the name of a restaurant Ste had banged on about and booking it in surprise; or even referring to him as 'my fucking husband' during an altercation with a vicious bouncer in his own club who wouldn't let Ste in; or buying a painting of the Ha'Penny bridge as the first thing they hung up in the bedroom.

Money wouldn't be a problem for them to move out to America – and besides, despite the Douglas reminders, Brendan enjoyed hearing Ste say the place name, its final vowel dissolving under his Mancunian accent – but the Greencard would. They wouldn't be chomping at the bit for a couple of gay ex-cons.

Brendan kissed him, lips dry from the flight. He believed in Heaven, he just didn't have the heart to tell Ste that they wouldn't end up there.

Ste's fingers unbuttoned the already gaping shirt Brendan wore, breaking mouths to kneel up and angle deeper for a longer kiss, arms curling around his neck. It was obvious where this was headed and despite Brendan's growing comfort with more public displays of affection, those were only usually for show, they were still sat on a balcony on what seemed like a busy block.

When he pushed Ste away, his bottom lip had swelled with teeth marks and protruded now, wet and sulky.

"Coming in the shower?" Brendan said, less of a question more a prediction. His voice never stopped making Ste's flesh shiver and he'd stripped his polo shirt and bounded to the bathroom before Brendan had even stood.

He stood with water from the shower raining down his hips when Brendan entered through the glass door. Ste grinned wildly like he always did during moments when he thought they were being particularly mischievous. Like a heavy-handed grope in the booth of a dim club that Brendan had despised up until Ste had whispered hot in his ear. Or a grimy and uncomfortable lube-less fuck in an alley – not one of their proudest moments but one hell of a shag. Or pretending to get lost on their way to a dinner at Cheryl and Nate's but instead having a summertime screw in an overgrown acre of their land so far from the house that they were two hours late for the meal.

Brendan took charge of the shower, spraying Ste from head to toe and then doused himself so his thick body hair clung like dark fur. Ste reached for the head of Brendan's cock, squeezing its solid thickness in his hand. He jolted when he felt the tingling sting of Brendan's hand slap across his arse and they exchanged laughter, humming through heated kisses, before Brendan got serious and pinned him against the wall with his hand slammed on the tiles. When Ste gulped his throat pulsed and Brendan's mouth invited itself to feast upon his water-sheened body, leaving his lids flickering and mouth parted. His nails scratched at Brendan's muscular back, over every warm ridge and trembling muscle. He couldn't kid himself, Brendan's body in its strength and power and dominance was something he would never stop fantasising about.

His hands were on the back of Brendan's thighs now and he matched the grip when Brendan clawed at his arse cheeks, probing a finger inside him and twisting right to the knuckle. Ste yelped a little, turning it into a soft cry.

"We got time?" Ste said as their foreheads pressed together, Brendan grunting as their cocks rutted together in his hand. Brendan only grinned in that intimidating, manic way of his, one which made blood pump faster and usually spelt the end of Ste's reign of control in the bedroom. The grin meant you'd lost.

Brendan pumped himself a little longer just to make the lust flicker in Ste's eyes when his cum shot over his skin. He sunk to his knees and taking Ste right to the back of his throat without a moment's hesitation. He heard an _ohgod_ from Ste before he threw his head back with a painful thwack against the tiles. Ste had long since decided Brendan was living proof that men were better at sucking cock. He couldn't imagine anyone else with that kind of hunger and force. His mouth grew merciless, exquisitely attentive to nerve endings Ste didn't even know existed. Ste pulled at his hair until their eyes met and Brendan's shallow breathing came out in little huffs above his moustache.

He let Ste free for a moment, unable to resist a bite of his fleshy, trembling belly and grinned again as Ste groaned in frustration, squeezing his fists. "Finish the job," he said, forcing Brendan's head and watching in agony as Brendan licked him with infuriating delicacy. The underside of his tongue lapped the head like a butterfly, whisper thin and tickled his balls like tracing a maze.

"You're a fucking bastard and I hate –"

The last word was lost as Brendan took grip of his hips and pulled him into his mouth, lips viced around him. He sucked and tugged for mere seconds before Ste was flooding his mouth and thumping his shoulder with his fist. As his pulse descended he took Brendan's face in his hands.

"I'm a bastard and you hate me, do you?" Brendan said, climbing to his feet and cornering Ste. He had his hand on the temperature controls.

"I love yer," Ste said, prising his hand away, "Git. You know what you do to me,"

"Mm-hm," Brendan said, eye rolling and with a lick to his lips.

And just as they were about to kiss, they heard the bathroom door rattle, a child's voice chanting "Wee! Wee! Wee!" in desperation and Mitzeee screaming "Brendan! Ste! Get some clothes on!"

She told Phoenix later over dinner that Uncle Brendan and Uncle Ste liked saving water to help the planet like he'd learn at pre-school. She gave the pair of them a death stare.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for your comments and reviews they mean a lot! **

**Chapter Two**

Brendan had a pounding headache when he awoke the following day after their numerous cocktails at a local bar, the size of a living room. His jet leg hadn't even begun to seep through that pain. He told Ste was getting too old for it and Ste reassured him that his place in the nursing home was already booked.

Ste wasn't in bed when he got up and he grumbled his disappointment all the way to the bathroom. There were long scratches scarred down his back. Little shit. His stomach grumbled before he had a chance to deliberate over his next move and when approaching the kitchen he heard ear-piercing screeching coming from the child and Phoenix. He smirked at his own internally quipped joke.

"Morning," Anne greeted, sipping her coffee and directing him to a spread of unappealing syrupy breakfast foodstuffs. He glanced over to Ste with Phoenix, the pair of them playing a game that involved a dance mat.

"He recruiting for the team?" Brendan said, sighing as he took a seat at the breakfast bar.

"Judging by those moves he doesn't live up to the stereotype."

"Oi, I heard that!" Ste cried, picking up a squealing Phoenix and zooming him into the kitchen. "Bren, don't be turning your nose up at the food." He placed Phoenix down and took a plate from the oven, putting it in front of Brendan. "Er'yar."

He'd made him a fry up, as best he could with the food on offer. Brendan grabbed him by the neck of his t-shirt and kissed him on the mouth.

"Yuech!" Phoenix said.

"Don't mind him," Mitzeee said, "He does that to everyone."

They strolled the beach that morning, Mitzeee spending the time mum-ing around with Phoenix and leaving the boys to it, she said. The weather was holiday-brochure predictable and within mere hours Ste looked like he'd been licked by the sun, his hair fluffed in blond highlights and skin treacle coloured. Brendan had spent a meticulous time slathering himself in sun cream before they left and having brought no appropriate beach clothing, had jeans rolled and sand cloying around his lotioned feet, boots clutched under his arm.

As they walked, Ste light-footed between laps of the sea, Brendan lingered his fingertips on the small of his back. When they walked their homely streets of Dublin, it'd be a squeeze of the shoulder or a tug of his coat, an accidental brush of hands. Brendan had found the mental image of himself holding Steven's hand jarring with what people expected when they glanced at him in the street. He was only just coming to terms with these two parts of himself gelling, without inviting the world to comment too.

Wonderings spilled from Ste's mouth as he walked backwards as he talked. He wanted to know if it'd ever be possible to get bored of sunshine, why Americans call a bumbag a fanny pack (which he could barely say for sniggering) and then once they'd had their fill of botox'd fitness freaks, he said, in all seriousness and joining Brendan in step: "You'll think you'll fancy me as much when I'm old and saggy?"

He used the last word to pepper some lightness in the frown on his face. Brendan stopped him and lowered his sunglasses, pushing the gum to one side of his mouth. "Kinda question's that?"

"Only asking."

"You think _you_ won't feel the same about me?"

"Oh yeah, turn it back on me!" Ste said, he had his arms crossed now, elbows creating a barrier. "Course I will, won't I? Said I like your…" Ste circled his finger around his eyes, "You know, them lines."

"Laughter lines. They're called laughter lines," Brendan said. He started thinking about the growing flecks of grey he found in his hair.

Ste gave him a hard shove in the chest. "What about you, eh? We were talking about you."

If Ste could see through the bronze lens of Brendan's sunglasses, he'd see the smug flicker of a smile in his eyes, one that didn't reach his disguised mouth. Yeah, it had been his ripe inexperience for the taking that trapped him first. Who wouldn't crave for, fold for a man young and vulnerable and needy? One who'd idolise and writhe just to please. When lust ruled, of course it had been the Circe du Soleil positions and bountiful stamina that sent him back countless times. But when fondness and affection reared their initially ugly heads, Brendan saw the real youth, the real attraction: the bravery, the innocence, the wonder.

Brendan shrugged, looking out to sea. "Maybe I'll trade up."

At that moment, an over-gymmed guy sauntered by, a fluffball Pomeranian in his arms. He wore the tiniest shorts. It took everything in his power for Brendan to fight the deeply chiselled urge to sneer, he still found the effeminate and primped breed of gay man uncomfortable, and instead he made a show of checking him out in front of Ste.

Ste shoved him in the back and undefeated, muttered under his breath. He stripped down to his boxer shorts and jumped straight into the sea and when he had Brendan's full attention, peeled off his underwear and threw them for him to catch. Brendan wrung the sea-sodden boxer shorts in his hand, wading in up to his knees. Ste had his eyes half closed and tongue teasing between his teeth.

"It's mid-morning," Brendan said, drawn closer into clothes-drenching territory, "You're bound to be breaking the law." His eyes never strayed far from his wet torso, he glistened like he was sprayed gold, his skin covered in a smattering of goosebumps. He could imagine the taste of him: salty and warm and clean.

Ste grinned in that all too practised way. _This is killing you_ – it said.

"You gonna come over here and sort me out?" Ste said, eyes twinkling. "Citizen's arrest?"

Brendan was waist high now; jeans wrecked, boots forgotten about on the sand. The salt water licked his until shirt see-through. "You'd enjoy it too much."

"Would I?" Ste said, swimming further out and beckoning him closer.

"Just remember who's got hold of your panties before you keep up this game."

Ste scrunched his nose up at that word; some things just sounded sexier with an Irish accent.

He swam for a bit, something that proved difficult when trying not to expose himself, with Brendan watching on the whole time. After a moment Brendan called out, shielding the sun from his face.

"The answer's yes, by the way."

"You what?"

"To your question," Brendan replied, he let the smile spread knowing Ste's pondering had become insignificant. Old, grey, tired, saggy – it meant nothing.

\x\

Later on, Brendan picked up the rental car and blasted the horn right outside the apartment. Its ostentatious for the short stay felt worth the price of a few brownie points from his husband. Even Mitzeee salivated as Brendan posed against the bonnet with the roof down.

"Wow!" Mitzeee said, laughing. "I'd say overcompensating but…". She winked at him.

Already Ste had thrown himself in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel.

"What a babe magnet," she teased as Brendan gave an approving look to Ste. She gave them the address of a bar to meet her in West Hollywood after she'd dropped off Phoenix to his granddad's. Ste and Brendan were playing the typical tourists for the afternoon. Ste was momentarily distracted as he wondered if Phoenix would ever learn that his mum and his granddad shagged once upon a time. Maybe when he learned what the word 'shag' meant.

Brendan caught Ste staring at him for most of the drive.

"Have I got something on my face?" he asked and the pre-empting the joke said, "Apart from the obvious tache reference."

"Just thinking," Ste said, leaning on the windowsill.

"That's novel. Continue…"

"You look proper fit driving that car," Ste said, grinning. He looked over at the shades on, the slim-fit shirt opened to the centre of his chest, the gum chewing. "If you saw you now I'd think you were dead famous." Ste had once, drunkenly and soppily, told him that being married to Brendan was like being to a celebrity: rich, infamous and dangerous. The notoriety gave him a buzz; everyone knew the name Brendan Brady.

Brendan shook his head, laughing. "Where d'you wanna eat?"

Ste had thought about it during the drive and answered without hesitation. "Hard Rock Café. Cos I reckon, right, that we might see a rockstar there. S'Where they eat isn't it? So I heard anyway. I don't think I'd recognise anyone, though. I don't recognise anyone, me."

He was forced to concentrate on the signage so he didn't laugh at Ste's suggestion, but reached out to stroke his cheek. His naive enthusiasm was impossible to not to love.

During lunch he couldn't despair too much at Ste's ignorance of Jim Morrison and Marc Bolan, as he was stuffing his face with a burger the size of Elvis's heartattack. He attempted to educate him a little on T-Rex and The Doors whilst Ste nodded along passively, wiping ketchup from Brendan's tash with his thumb. A Johnny Cash song's opening bars caught Brendan's attention and he eased back into his seat with a contented sigh.

"Now this…this is music, Steven."

Ste strained to hear, watching Brendan's fingers drum on the table. "The Man in Black?" Ste asked, a guess procured from years of trying to learn the world through Brendan's eyes.

"The very one," Brendan said, a triumphant smile through his next mouthful of lunch. It was Brendan, in the end, who felt a little awed by the memorabilia of rock past and he was glad of Steven's choice of restaurant even if he hadn't, in his words, seen any 'famouses'.

"What can we buy Anne for tomorrow?" Brendan asked as they strolled up Hollywood Boulevard, Ste stopping in frequent bursts when he recognised a name of someone on the Walk of Fame.

"Something classy," Ste said, pulling Brendan so he'd stop and wait for Ste to take a photo of the Mickey Mouse star on the pavement, one to show the kids and one that probably made him the most starstruck. "You should know. She's your mate."

After a moment he'd decided on a gift voucher. Everyone loved a voucher and they were practical.

"Whatever you get, not a voucher."

Brendan looked down at his wedding band wondering if it had somehow voiced his private thoughts. "Why not? You loved that voucher I got you this year."

Ste smiled weakly. "Yeah it was great." He'd preferred the birthday-blindfold sex session rather than the paper vouchers. They'd almost been forgotten about, expiry date approaching, at the back of a drawer. The blindfold, however, the sensation of Brendan's thumbs making concentric circles on his inner thighs, were always vivid on his mind.

There'd only been one rule: that Ste was allowed to touch nothing. Brendan had the final say, even when it came to the blindfold. For the longest time, Brendan tested his own patience and kept Steven clothed. He pressed broad palms over the plains of his body, down his arms, around his waist. The ragged breaths that came from Ste's parted lips told him that anticipation was everything. His hand lingered warmly over Ste's groin; he barely twitched his fingers but Ste was already hardening.

The clothes came off item by item, restrained. He licked right across Ste's chest and when his tongue dared touch his nipples, he shivered with it and broke the rules to grip Brendan's hair. Immediately Brendan snapped back on his heels, pinning Ste's wrists above his head. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Patience is a virtue," he murmured, gliding just one finger along the base of Steven's cock.

Ste whined, blindly trying to shift his body into contact with Brendan. For the briefest of seconds, he relented and enjoyed the desperate mewing as Ste rubbed himself against the friction of Brendan's leg.

"Enough," he said, stilling Ste by the hips and nuzzling a kiss underneath his belly button. Brendan smelt the need perspiring from him. Steven's knuckles were white and fingers twisted into the sheets, but Brendan just wouldn't give in, his hands and his mouth just skimmed the surface of his arousal, until his thumbs started circling the clammy warm of his thighs.

The tension was exquisite and everything in Ste ached. But Brendan had stopped and the room fell quiet apart from their breathing. Steven found his wrist being taken by Brendan, his hand being moved like a puppet until he was being made to touch himself in very controlled, measured strokes. It was superficially satisfying, like rubbing an itch rather than scratching. Then when his arms were stretched back above his head, he heard Brendan undressing.

For an agonising minute contact was banned, Ste was only kept aware of Brendan's presence by the sound of his breaths, coming short and quick. The rhythmic sound of flesh being jerked in his hand. He could hear exactly what he was doing.

"_Fuck_," Ste said, not sure if it was aloud or not.

He was on fire when he felt Brendan's cock brush against his. Just as the heat started, he was denied again. Pre-cum leaked onto his belly. Then there was weight above him, could feel Brendan's thighs, hot and pulsing just next to him. Ste edged up onto his elbows, waiting. Brendan handled his face like porcelain, teasing the ties of the blindfold as if he were going to remove it. He didn't.

He cradled the back of Ste's head in his hands and wiped the damp head of his cock across Ste's lips. He'd be all Ste could taste for hours. The whimper that escaped was lost as Brendan fed his dick slowly into Ste's willing mouth and then he reached behind for a clumsy pump of Ste's cock. Brendan groaned, its sound vibrating through their partnership, relishing the helplessness of Ste's positioning.

When the time finally came to fuck him, he'd played lubed fingers in curling pressure inside his hole and tormented him with his saliva-wet cock just enough so that he was flushed with frustrated bliss. At the first pound, Brendan tore the blindfold from his eyes to watch the ecstasy play out across his eyes.

He wondered how Brendan had been so perceptive of his private birthday wish.

Ste played tourist, half listening as he clicked photos. "I just think, sommit more personal for Mitz. You know what women are like,"

"Nightmares?"

Ste sighed. "Look where we are, Brendan. We're in America," – those blurry vowels again – "And you're good with clothes n'that aren't you?"

"What's that meant ta'mean?"

Ste rolled his eyes. He barely mentioned Brendan's camper quirks and when he did he got shut down over it.

"It means you look good, dun'it?" Ste said, smoothing up to him. What he'd actually meant was that Brendan could spot a fake handbag at a hundred metres, he grimaced more at a sorry looking dress than the state of the world and if he didn't have an opinion on a woman's perfume then it wasn't worth spraying.

Brendan straightened up the collar on Ste's polo shirt and patted him on the back, conceded and marched off in front.

\x\

Mitzeee had chosen the tackiest - and if he was honest, it had seen better days – karaoke bar in town. He tried suggesting an alternative, somewhere quieter, somewhere on a less worrying-looking block. But he'd been outnumbered by the soon to be birthday girl and her new best pal. Steven might as well have been her sister the way he giggled with her – Brendan usually being the source of all amusement.

Anne went to the restroom and when Brendan returned back to the table with a tray of alarmingly pink cocktails, Ste wanted to know what was wrong.

"Don't be such a party pooper," Ste said. He'd reached that irritating drunk stage where he got a sulk on for half a minute and then wanted to make out like a teenager. Brendan had been on soft drinks (designated driver) all night and the eighties cheesy tunes slurred into a microphone were beginning to grate. The company, his so called nearest and dearest, pestered him all night about choosing a song and having a dance and he wasn't in the mood for either.

He hadn't told Steven why, had hoped at the time that the thoughts would just fade away amongst the buzz of the city, but still the thoughts persisted. They'd been in the midst of shopping when Steven nipped into a restaurant to use their loo and he stood waiting outside. There was a group of people being disbanded across the road and it took him a while to realise that it was the police trying to move protestors on. The posters and t-shirts cleared in his vision and the age old story of religion versus sexuality was rearing its head with the most derogatory language possible. Queers and fags and homos. Sinners and hell and burning. Verses and chapters were being chanted, paraded – ones that he could repeat in his mind until it he was almost joining in with them.

They were quietened down and moved on and Brendan felt his unrest shrinking. A man beside him had more to add.

"No one says enough round here no more. Place is overrun with 'em, just like Hell will be. You'll bet even the police are all queens," he looked to Brendan for some acknowledgement, some agreement.

Brendan said nothing. Nothing. He moved his mouth meekly. His brain was fogged, totally blocked and when Steven showed up and they left, he was washed with guilt for saying nothing, for doing nothing.

In the bar, Steven tried sticking his fingers in Brendan's cheeks and poking him into smiling, but as Mitzeee returned, it was their turn up on stage. He clapped mildly as they clambered up there, clinging to each other and snorting with laughet.

Ste had grabbed the microphone before it had even started. "Presenting to you tonight, singing sensationalistical…the exceptionate…the fit..Mitzeee!" Ste motioned a bowing down action and as the godforsaken Britney song started added, "This is for my sexy man, Brendan."

Brendan escaped to the toilet. He could always grimace through any embarrassment faced when Ste was feeling particularly playful because he knew there was no malice there, but tonight he'd retreated into himself and that never ended well. Ste was too excitable and bladdered to notice, usually he'd act like a barometer when it came to sensing Brendan's moods and most of the time be able to guide him out of that pit.

Two guys ambled into the bathroom, doubled up in laughter talking about the disastrous acts of the night.

"The chick singing with that fag. She'd get it."

Before he'd even blinked, Brendan had the guy's blood on his knuckles, his face pushed up against the wall with Brendan's fist.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you as always for the support and reviews. I found this difficult to write so that's why there's been a delay. Hope you enjoy reading it.**

**Chapter Three**

One of the more sober of the guy's friends pulled the two apart just as the bruised was about to land a punch at Brendan's jaw. Brendan's neck swiped forward like a viper, telling the guy to back off. The American wiped blood from his nose with the tails of his shirt. He stared at Brendan, dazed.

"The fuck, man?!"

"You ever talk like that again in front of me, you'll be choking on your teeth." The swell of fury within, the regret of staying silent in the street earlier, compounded inside his head. It was like someone tightened screws in there, building the pressure until there was no freedom to think with learned clarity and the calmness he'd practised.

"Your instincts have to be unlearned," the therapist had said when he still had an eighteen year stretch ahead and it all seemed entirely futile. He'd taken the view then that if you taught a dog not to bark, then the docile fucker gets shredded by the bigger, tougher pack. But three months in, Dr Gibbs wasn't budging on his behavioural therapy and 'channelling' became his new buzzword. He'd kick seven shades of shit out of a punch bag rather than see an extended sentence. Rehabilitation became the sole focus in prison. If he could trample that aggression then he could justify his sacrifice. He'd have something to show for it. As the day came for his release, awash with confusion, guilt and relief, Dr Gibbs came by one last time.

"You'll find it easier to control now, Brady. If you work at it. But there will be days when you won't have that space in your mind to think it through. Don't let it imprison you, Brady. Think about what you're giving up when those eyes go black."

Over the years the targets of his anger became less and less like reflections – beating up _poofs_ didn't make him any less of one, controlling with a smack didn't give him back the power that had been stolen from him. Seamus had taken so much; he couldn't win in death. He'd been determined.

When faced with the cocky lad and his friends, Brendan's urges to keep pummelling his fists were stopped as he braced them by his side. _He'd_ said worse, he'd _done_ worse than this guy, this wasn't repayment for his behaviour. He could have told the guy he was a killer; that he'd murdered like the flick of a switch. But bragging confessionals with the case closed, evidence absent and not to mention his freedom at stake, was a mistake he'd never make.

Before Brendan had a chance to confront the guy further, his name was cried by Steven standing in the doorway of the bathroom. His eyes shot straight to Brendan's knuckles and he left, the door swinging behind him. Brendan called out after him, leaving the other guys with a brushed off apology.

Ste had sobered fast, the warmth in his eyes gone as he pulled on his jacket, grabbing Mitzeee roughly and snapping at her that they were leaving. His plan to leave was flawed on getting outside and realising Brendan had the keys to the rental car and was the only one dry to drive.

"Bastard!" he shouted, kicking a streetlamp in his path. He slumped down against it. "We'll just have to get a taxi."

Mitzeee trailed behind, wobbling to put on her shoes. "Ste, slow down a minute. What's wrong? Where's Brendan?"

As she said that, Brendan had caught up with them outside.

"How exactly were you planning on getting home?" he asked, dangling a set of keys.

"Where did you get to?!" Mitzeee said, her voice shrieking in the open air.

Ste glared at him. "You want to tell her or shall I?"

Brendan wiped his bloody knuckles against his jeans. "I got into a fight."

"No," Ste said, he was up in his face now, pushing at his shoulders. "You punched someone. His face is a mess."

"Brendan," Mitzeee said, pity turning her serious.

"I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry. Look, can we not have this conversation right here right now?" Brendan unlocked the passenger seat and indicated for Ste to get in.

"Why'd you do it?" Ste asked and then covered his face in his hands, despairing.

"He was saying stuff. About you. Calling you a fag."

"And?!"

"No one talks about you like that."

Mitzeee's eyes flitted between them watching as the hot-tempered tension simmered. Of course she knew the history, both their pasts were charcoaled with violence, but she'd never seen them square up to each other like this. They stoked the fire.

"Right," Ste said, "So the best way to shut him up was to smack him in the mouth?"

"I overreacted."

"Yeah, too right you did."

"I said I'm sorry."

"What does it matter, anyway, about what he said?!"

"It matters."

"You don't think I've heard them all Brendan? You think I care about what some stranger thinks of me?"

"I care!" Brendan cried, he slammed his hands down on the car, making Ste jump. "You think I wouldn't have done the same if he was badmouthing Anne?" She pulled a face when he brought her into the conversation and backed off a little. She knew the pair of them all too well, getting in the middle wasn't the right course of action.

Ste pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can't you see why I'm upset?"

Brendan looked over, seeing a weariness in Ste. Another fella with a broken nose; another broken promise. He had the weight of his promises on his back, daily. His risks got fewer and fewer, he wasn't that lone wolf anymore, he didn't have to be that soul fighter.

It wasn't about hurting Ste anymore. That had never happened again, hadn't even come close. Their words were vicious and stung sometimes, but when you're each other's life, you embody their heart and soul and know how to tear them down. Ste had carried a lot of bitterness and resentment whilst Brendan rotted and on his release, it exploded from Ste in bursts, culminating in him losing it one day, telling Brendan he'd ruined his life. When they fought it out, Ste throwing things, face snarled and unapproachable, he told Brendan he'd never get over those months when he'd been alone. How selfish Brendan had been for ripping him from happiness with no say; that alone, he could never feel that good about life again.

"I had to deal with that every day!" he'd said, voice loud and fuming. "I'd wake up in the empty flat and everything would come rushing back to me. Every day was only ever going to be half of what it could've been. Did you even think about that?"

Of course at the time, Ste knew his words bit. Brendan had been crushed and broken by having his life taken too. Ste at least got his freedom, a chance to find a new path. But as Ste told him that he didn't want any of that without him, how meaningless it all was, he sobbed. He was on his knees in the kitchen, throat thick and sickening as he accepted Brendan was there and there to stay. He had his life back.

The threat these days when he struggled with his rage – prison - was often unspoken between them. It was unimaginable to go through that again.

"I didn't mean to." Brendan said.

"You never do."

"You make it sound like I'm beating up people left right and centre!" Brendan cried, throwing his arms up in irritation. He sometime wondered what Steven expected of him, whether he married him hoping for a saint, another martyr like Douglas.

Ste shook his head. "It don't matter how many."

"What do you do, Steven?! Keep a record of every time I do something wrong?!" Brendan brushed Anne off when she tried to calm him down with her hands on his shoulders.

"I don't, but the police might!"

"Well that's for me to deal with."

Ste scoffed, his teeth gritted in anger. "So you're gonna risk your freedom just to teach some stupid nobody a lesson? What you gonna do, shrug your shoulders when you're taken away from me again?"

"I won't let it happen."

"That worked out so well last time, didn't it?!" Ste wiped his forearm across his face where tears lined his eyes. "I wanna go back to Mitzeee's. Just drive."

The shine of the soft top seemed duller on the journey back, the traffic an irritation, the giant American billboards a mocking display of commercialism. Anne dozed, make-up smudged down her face in the passenger seat and Steven sat in the back, face pointed to the window and silent. There was a debate about faith on the radio and Brendan's attention tuned in and out.

God had become less of a figure in his life, in this second chance. Retreating into the Bible in prison hadn't worked so favourably the first time and he took to something concrete and tangible in the form of boxing and therapy, in order to keep his momentum going for the outside world. Catholicism – the guilt and redemption kind – flowed deep within his veins and he could only turn down the volume rather than switch it off. Yet he'd stared the devil right in the eye and wondered what God could still offer him.

Faith didn't hold much weight when the shutters came down and violent thoughts and actions reigned. He came to realise that God could only do so much, the rest – that was him to control. And then it became harder, holding onto that responsibility.

Back at the apartment, Brendan half carried Anne to bed, pulling off her shoes but leaving the rest for her to sort out. Ste was on the balcony with a glass of water when he returned. He'd been crying.

Brendan braced himself against the balcony wall and looked out to the moonlit ocean backdrop. It'd be beautiful and romantic in any other circumstance.

"When you were shopping earlier, I saw this group – extremists – protesting about _fags_ and _homos_ and _queers_," Brendan said. He wondered if out loud, Steven would understand what was happening in his head. It seemed wrong, married or not, to drag him into the damaged depths of it. "That they – we're – going to hell."

"Queer and a murderer, yeah your chances aren't looking great," Ste said with a sneer.

Brendan ignored him and continued. "And then this guy pipes up next to me, talking about queers like, it's this sickness. And he's drawing me into it, looking for my agreement. And you know what I do? Nothing. I say nothing. I don't punch him, I don't confront him. I don't even tell him that he's a cunt."

Ste said nothing and Brendan didn't have to look at him to know he was sat, hands fidgeting in his lap.

"So the guy in the bathroom degrades you, uses those same words, ones I used to say to you and I hit him. And I would have smashed his face in to make me feel less of a coward. I couldn't be weak."

Brendan turned to see Ste, sitting, head in hands.

"You're not weak," Ste said after the silence had ebbed between them.

Brendan shook his head; he didn't believe it. They both knew when his knuckles bruised Ste, it was because he couldn't cope with living with his own feelings and it was away to claw back control he'd lost.

"A better man would have stood up to the guy in the street. A better man would be able to stop himself from hurting other people."

"You and I both know it's not that simple," Ste said. He joined Brendan by the balcony, trying to ignore the chill on his arms from the breeze.

"It is when I'm risking our future, Steven." Brendan looked at him – that beautiful man of his. Steven Brady. All fire and spirit and impulsiveness. All once crushed by his own hand.

"I know what it's like, you know. It takes over and you react without even thinking," Ste said. When he spoke about his past, it was like he didn't belong in it anymore, like he was telling a stranger's story. "But you can't - Brendan. I'm begging you." Ste placed his hand on Brendan's back and the implication was there:

_I can't lose you to prison again, it'll destroy me_.


	4. Chapter 4

**The final part! Hope you guys enjoyed. Your support and comments are the best and they always spur me on. Enjoy the last chapter.**

**Chapter Four**

Brendan had told Ste to go and sleep, that he needed some time to calm down and think. He must have dozed on the balcony, because the next thing he knew, the air was chilly and Anne had appeared with a blanket.

He sat up and she perched beside him apologetically for having woken him.

"What time is it?" he said, voice croaking.

"About four," she said and then with a trowelled on smile added, "Happy Birthday me!"

Brendan groaned, head in hands. "Oh Jesus, Anne. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arm round her and kissed the top of her head.

"You better have got me a good present Brendan Brady, that's the deciding factor now as to whether you've completely ruined my birthday or not!" She spoke theatrically, but it was Anne at the heart of her and he hated the thought of disappointing another person tonight.

"I don't deserve you Anne. Or Steven." He sighed, drumming his feet on the floor until Anne stilled him.

"Sometimes, no, you don't," she said, placing a hand on his knee, "But you know what, Brendan? You're stuck with us and we're the best you're gonna get." She shoved his shoulder then, making him jerk back a little in surprise. "You don't get to make stupid mistakes Brendan. You've been given this second chance – you've got that man in there who's been through hell and back for you, you've got your kids, Ste's kids, your new life in Dublin – you can't be so careless. And you can't shrug it off either."

"I'm not trying to shrug it off, Anne! I fucked up like I always do."

She jabbed her finger at him. "_Don't_ make excuses. If you're serious about this you'll get help."

"What If it doesn't work?"

"Well at least you've tried. And Ste will be more forgiving – although god knows how he can give you any more leeway than he already does – but only if you make the effort."

"I'd do anything for him."

"Yeah and usually that involves a corpse," Anne said, pulling her dressing gown around her tighter.

Brendan's head fell forward. "I'm wired wrong Anne. Even if I fight it, it's still in there eating away at me in here." He pointed to his skull. Sometimes he wished it were as simple as scraping out the part that was rotten, but he'd probably find it in the core of him.

"And who loses if you let it beat you? You do. You've got everything you never thought you'd have. Sometimes you're so normal now it scares me! I remember what you were like in your dad's shadow. I remember how cold and selfish and heartless you were. That's not the same man who married Ste. Do you remember when I was pregnant and miserable and for the first time ever you were happy? Why would you lose all that?"

"I don't want to." He smiled softly reminiscing about all their happy memories – he had endless now, not just a handful – and squeezed Mitzeee's hand. "Whatever he wants me to do, it's done. Counselling…some time apart…"

She whacked him again on the shoulder. "Don't be such a martyr. Of course he doesn't want you to move out." She tutted. "You're an idiot."

"So," Brendan said, changing the subject, "What are we doing about your birthday then?"

Anne scrunched up her nose. "You know what, after breakfast I think I'll spend the day with Phe. Leave you boys to sort it out. The last thing I want is another domestic on my birthday."

"Sure?"

"Yeah." And then she sighed. "I'll go out. Because I know what your making up involves and as much as I'd love and stay for the live show – I think Phe's a bit young for all that." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Night, Anne."

"Go to bed. And in the morning, get on the phone to some fancy pants counsellor in Dublin. You can afford it." She waved goodnight and left the patio door open so he'd return inside.

He climbed tentatively into bed, pressing his lips to Ste's exposed shoulder before turning and facing the opposite way. He didn't feel he had the permission or the right to hold him tonight.

\x\

Brendan was up and awake first and when he went downstairs to see the birthday girl, he found a note instead.

_Bren,_

_Taken my favourite boy out for some disgustingly sickly pancakes. List on the back is phone numbers – I did some research for you (don't say I don't love you). Will be back at 10 for presents! (not the number of exclamation marks) Give Ste a kiss from me. Mitzeee xoxo_

He made himself the blackest of sugarless coffees, Steven's fight against his three sugar habit had won, and sat at the table and began dialling. Anne had even included notes by the side of each number, like _Right by your work!_, _Has a café!, Non-threatening looking receptionist!_ But by the third number down she'd written in neat, tiny writing: _Specialises in abuse victims, can do couples too. Best option?_

So he dialled that number first, tapping his spoon repeatedly against the mug until he'd chipped some of the paintwork. His knee jumped up and down too until a woman answered. She didn't sound clinical about appointments but measured and he couldn't feel paranoid thoughts creeping through, so that was a bonus.

"I'm not sure if my partner – my husband – would like to attend, so can we make it just for me at the moment, yeah?"

It was a private clinic and she had him booked in for a fortnight's time. Simple as that – the appointment at least. Attending and talking and participating might be a different matter. When the call ended, Steven appeared from behind him in boxers and a shirt of Brendan's. He wondered if that was a form of acceptance, a sign of forgiveness.

"You're seeing a therapist again?" he asked, sitting on a chair opposite and looking at the list of numbers beside the phone.

Brendan was shaking a little and the coffee slopped in the mug when he rested it down. "The doctor he uh, specialises in abuse – victims and perpetrators – so, that's me. That's good, so."

"It is good," Ste said and the back of his knuckles touched Brendan's in a cautious display of support.

"And they said, if you want that, you can come with me. Or not it's-"

Ste smiled softly. "Of course I'll come. If you want me there. I'm there."

"Okay." Silence filtered out between them. "You want coffee or?"

Ste swallowed and stilled Brendan with a hand on his arm. "Yesterday…I don't wanna make out like it's all forgotten cos it's not. I don't ever wanna risk this Bren. D'you understand me? Look I know I don't understand everything that goes on in your head. I don't get the God stuff and everything with your dad – I can't imagine how-"

"Steven –"

"No, wait, just…" Ste put both hands on Brendan's shoulders and shook him until he'd look up. "You can hate yourself all you like, but I love you enough for the both of us and that's never gonna change." Ste kissed him on the lips, brushing them open, urging Brendan to respond slightly stronger.

Ste wanted to tell Brendan how proud he was that he was going to see a therapist again, but he knew in Brendan's lows he didn't need reassuring words, he just needed him there with arms around him.

Steven led him to bed, enveloping Brendan in his embrace and let him apologise with his mouth - gentle on his shoulders. Their lips came together as Brendan unbuttoned the shirt Ste had claimed as his own. He nuzzled it from his shoulders and lowered him onto the bed, hands cradling Ste's head with every tenderness. Ste grinned at him and it broke the tension with his mischief.

"What?!" Brendan asked, kneeling to slide down Ste's underwear.

"Jus' love your face when you get all serious in bed." Ste reached to squeeze his cheeks into a smile.

Brendan took his hands, pressing his lips to Ste's palms before stooping his head low and making a pathway of feather-light kisses over Ste's chest. He opened his eyes to admire Ste, his blue eyes wide and watching. His mouth parted a slither, soft coos of encouragement, when Brendan's tongue sucked over his nipples. They kissed again, Ste deep with Brendan's lingering coffee mouth, and Brendan rolled Ste onto his side. He elongated Ste's leg that sat on top, giving his warm clammy thigh a generous, loving slap and felt his belly flutter in giggles under his hand. He liked the entwined laziness of this position.

Ste's arm coiled behind him, hooking Brendan against his mouth and murmured indigently for Brendan's hand to creep that inch lower to his swelled dick. His hips rolled and nudged the head of Brendan's cock into life.

He gnarled softly into Ste's ear, painstakingly gradual stroking of his cock. His balls nestled against the curve of Ste's arse and suffered the minimal friction it allowed. When Brendan's grunting picked up pace, thrusting himself against Ste's behind, his fingers grew gluey with Ste's pre-cum. His impatience took control and he welled those fingers with saliva and deployed long hard pressure into Ste's opening. He stretched him open, spurred by Ste's bed-muffled mews, one-two-three fingers in a rhythm that gave him no chance to breathe.

Reaching forward he pumped Ste further, coercing him with a greedy: _Give me more, Steven _and used his first flood of semen to lubricate himself, easing inside Ste. His teeth dug possessively into Ste's shoulder as he drove his claim inside him, rocking his body into spasm. From spine to head, Ste arched and threw his arm back to claw Brendan in deeper. His face pressed into the pillow and submitted to Brendan moulding him into shape. Ste manoeuvred to his front; knees carrying him, legs parted and arse in the air and open like prize. He scratched at the pillow, groaning "_Go on!_" at Brendan.

Clamping hands to his hips and inhaling deep through his nose, Brendan thrust into him with one forceful pummel. Ste jolted forward with a cry and their bodies settled for a moment, hearts hammering, until Brendan surged into him again. His fingertips trickled down Ste's sweat glistened back, an exchange of murmured affection, and he came with a final groan.

They laid, overlapping, with the bed-sheet draped over their messy bodies and played with each other's hair. Ste's fingers scissored through Brendan's chest hair.

"I'm a lucky guy," Brendan said.

"Yeah, you are." He grinned. "My lucky guy."

\x\

"Presents!" Mitzeee and Phoenix cheered in unison. Brendan stuck his finger in his ear to check he could still hear. She'd watched him emerge from the bedroom earlier on her arrival back from breakfast, humming.

"Oh a singing Brendan. I'm glad I took Phe out then," she said, poking out her tongue. "Where's Ste or can he not walk?"

Brendan rolled his eyes. "Shower."

"Alone? That makes a change." She tapped him on the arm. "Hey, did you make an appointment?"

"All done."

She kissed him on the forehead.

In the living room, Brendan hadn't over her present after having persuaded Ste to wrap it for him. She gleefully unlaced the parcel, falling about with excitement when she revealed the dress Brendan had chosen. Phe jumped at her high pitched squeal and she ran barefoot to hug both Brendan and Ste.

"You better put it on tonight," Ste said giving her a wink.

"Tonight?" Brendan asked, frowning.

"Surprise," Ste said, throwing his arm around Brendan's shoulders.

"I hate –"

"You love my surprises."

"I do love your surprises."

They kissed. "Yeuch," said Phe covering his eyes.

\x\

Mitzeee drove, hitching up her new dress until the amount of thigh she showed made Brendan grimace. It was her birthday, but she was willing to be novel and transfer the attention onto her guests.

Brendan approved of the bar they showed up in. Its smooth and dark atmosphere appealed even more seeing Steven dressed up and that they had a good selection of whiskey behind the bar. Steven glugged some in spirit, making Brendan chuckle and pat him on the back when he coughed.

"What's this all about?" Brendan asked when they sat around a little circular table with the lights dimmed. He groaned. "Please say you've not dragged me to a strip club? Or whatever the gay version is."

Ste grinned. "You didn't complain that one time when –"

"Not in front of the lady," Brendan said holding up his hand.

"I'm all ears!" Mitzeee beamed, leaning forward in her seat.

"She's 'ardly a lady," Ste said. She slapped his chest for that.

A man on a microphone started speaking, so Ste raised his voice. "I wanted you to see a real star in Hollywood. 'Cept the one you like best is dead. So this is the best I could do."

The microphone echoed around the room. "-put your hands together for the USA's leading Johnny Cash tribute – The Man in Black!"

Cheers surrounded the room and Brendan could only watch in awe as Ste's face scrunched up in delight. The opening bars of Ring of Fire deafened the surroundings.

He could only think - I don't deserve you, but I sure as hell won't lose you – as he watched Ste tapping his foot along. He had Anne throw her arms around his neck and sing out of tune in his ear.

She said it was the best birthday she could remember.


End file.
